


Marvel Imagines

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 20:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4194270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(TAKING REQUESTS)</p><p>Mild language very often, but it's the Avengers so is that really surprising? A collections of Marvel Imagines, as stated in the title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thor 1

**_(Y/N) = Your Name_ **

**_(Y/S/C) = Your Skin Color_ **

**_(Y/H/C) = Your Hair Color_ **

**_(Y/E/C) = Your Hair Color_ **

 

**Imagine being able to lift Thor’s hammer**

 

    You scowl, ignoring the sneers and rude comments thrown at you by the others in your school. Your dark wings are tucked against your back, and you keep your head down as you walk. You feel a shiver run through your wings and you stop walking, expecting to see some food thrown in front of you. You definitely aren’t expecting a huge blue alien-cat  _thing_  to come flying in through the nearest hallway window and to hop off of its flying bike thing. It lets out a wet screaming sound and you race to the side, grabbing one of the visiting grade schooler and continuing to run. You drop the kid by her mom before turning and ramming into the thing. It screams at you again and jabs at you with some golden thing.

    Another shiver runs through you and you duck as a huge hammer comes flying into the room, landing against the wall. You have no time to recognize said hammer before you’re picking it up and swinging it like a baseball bat. It hits the creature directly in the face and you spread your huge wings out so you don’t fall forwards. The hammer is perfectly balanced, and you’d used all of your strength on that swing. You nearly just face planted.

    “Look out!” The little girl that you saved screams and you duck as a huge bolt of swirling blue zips past your head and into the wall behind you. When the wall explodes you cuss and run forwards, debris raining down on you from behind. You jump up and kick another one of the aliens in the stomach before hitting it on the side of it’s head with the hammer. You do another spinning kick, and your foot connects solidly with another’s head. You hit it in the jaw with the hammer to make sure it won’t get back up.

    “Is there any more?” You ask, turning around wildly, hammer raised in one hand and your other arm up in a half defensive half offensive position. Your large navy blue wings are spread and perked up in aggression, but when you turn it isn’t an enemy standing behind you. It’s one of the avengers. The god. Thor, right? Something akin to electricity shoots up your arm and then you finally look down at the hammer you’ve been using as a weapon. You recognize the symbol on the side, see that Thor is looking between you and the hammer, and then you open your hand to drop said hammer. Too bad it doesn’t move from your hand, hovering where you’d been holding it and refusing to drop. Oh god, what just happened. And is happening now?

    You aren’t able to ask the questions because at that time another wave of aliens bursts into the room. You and Thor work back to back. Thor uses his lightning abilities and you use his hammer. After all of the aliens are on the ground around you and Thor, you turn to the god, breathing heavily. Not because you’re tired, but because of the adrenaline rushing through you.

    “What is your name?” Thor asks, holding out his hand a bit. You feel a tug on Mjölnir, but when you open your hand it drops to the floor by your feet instead of flying to Thor. The god raises a brow before lowering his hand.

    “(Y/N).” You say, blowing a few strands of (Y/H/C) hair out of your eyes. Thor nods before motioning to Mjölnir. Your brows furrow.

    “Do as I did. Try to summon Mjölnir to your hand.” The god orders. You lift your hand hesitantly, shrugging when Mjölnir doesn’t move. “It takes more than the physical movement. Mjölnir considers you worthy, therefore it will allow you to order and summon it. Try again.” Thor orders. You cross your arms, uncomfortable with the attention aimed at you. When Thor looks at you meaningfully you sigh and uncross your eyes.

     _Come here._  You order the hammer mentally, holding out your hand. Your (Y/E/C) eyes widen when a wave of energy and power rolls through you. Mjölnir flies up into your hand, and your stance switches around a second earlier so you don’t go flying backwards. You let out a quiet grunt when the hammer hits your open hand, and you close the hand quickly. Mjölnir is still perfectly balanced as you swing it a few times, and Thor is looking you up and down.

    ‘Follow me.” Thor murmurs before holding his hand open. You toss Mjölnir to the god of thunder, and he swings it a few times in a circle before taking off. You spread your wings and take off after him a few seconds later.


	2. Everyone 1

**_(Y/N) = Your Name_ **

**_(Y/S/C) = Your Skin Color_ **

**_(Y/H/C) = Your Hair Color_ **

**_(Y/E/C) = Your Hair Color_ **

 

**Imagine helping the Avengers in their battles, but they don’t know who you are  until you get injured**

 

        The first time you felt truly useful is when you helped them in the battle against the blue aliens. You’d saved at least three of them more than five times, and they didn’t even know. At least, you don’t think they knew. Sure, you’d nearly died but you saved the Avengers and hundreds of citizens. You didn’t know until later that one of the people you’d saved had snapped a picture of you and posted it on, like, five social media websites.

        You’d covered the bottom half of your face with a black bandanna to keep smoke and debris and stuff away so you could breath, and you’d been wearing that pair of aviators that actually stay on when you fly. Your huge charcoal wings had been spread to keep you from falling, and your daggers had rested in your hands, shaping an X over your chest. Usually you use your guns, but that attack had been too close range for that. Your (Y/H/C) hair had been a freaking mess in the picture, but at least your face was covered and your body was covered mostly by your wings.

        Some people still snap pictures of you beating up robbers and random things, but you’ve just accepted that you need to wear a bandanna and the glasses whenever your wings are out, now. People on tumblr seem to absolutely adore you. There’s even fucking  _fanfiction_  written about you. And ships. With the avengers. And a few random superheros. Mostly with you and Spiderman, considering you’re basically partners in kicking evil (or just annoying) ass. They even have a name for when people are looking for you, for god’s sake. ‘Birdwatching’. It’s stupid but at least people care enough to actively looking for you.

        Right now you’re evacuating a city because you see the main parts of it starting to rise from the ground. You rush people away and tell others where to order the others to go, and then you make pull on your bandana. The person you’re talking to has wide eyes, and you smirk even though she can’t see it. You wink at her before putting on your sunglasses and releasing your wings. The girl snaps a picture as your wings fold down before extending all the way. Or maybe it’s a video. You wave before taking off, leaving a small circle where the wind from your takeoff happened.

        You land on the rising land, grabbing a kid who fell off on the way. The mom is screaming nearby, so it isn’t difficult to find her and hand her her child. You hear something coming up behind you and your daggers slip into your hands. You spin, taking off some robots head as you do so. Your wings bend backwards to protect the family as more robots launch themselves at you. You behead each of them, ripping out their insides afterwards to make sure they’re unable to get back up.

        You turn back around, nodding at the family before spotting more falling people. Then you see there’s still people on the ground who think staying is a good idea somehow. You scowl before launching yourself off the chunk of land, seeing a helicarrier approaching. You grab two little girls who fell off and zip back up to the helicarrier to drop them off. You get as many people as you can, very nearly missing one. You desperately try not to think about the ones that you’re unable to save.

        When you turn you see Hawkeye ducked down, a little boy under him. And a guy in a blue suit is racing towards them, bullets spraying behind him. You cuss and fly towards them at your highest speed, ending up in front of the guy with white hair a second before bullets rip through one of your wings. The men and the boy under your wing are unharmed except for the one bullet that grazed the fast guy’s side. You collapse forwards, breathing heavily as the men and boy recover from their shock, shocked to be freaking alive.

        When they recover some train of thought, they automatically turn to you. Your vision is swimming, and pain is rippling across your entire body from your wing. You let out a pained sound when you’re picked up, and the blue guy grabs Hawkeye’s arm. Hawkeye grabs the little boy he was gonna sacrifice himself for, and the fast guy takes off at his top speed, probably popping Hawkeye’s arm out of its socket. The two drop off the boy with his mother, and Hawkeye pops his shoulder back into place, staring at you with wide eyes.

        Whatever you’re in takes off and lands on the helicarrier minutes later. By that time everything seems to be in shades of gray and you can barely breath because of the pain flowing through you. “We need a doctor! We need a doctor  _now!_ ” Hawkeye shouts, his chest vibrating against your side, causing you to whimper in pain. You barely have consciousness, and the world is fading fast. Somebody cusses wildly nearby, probably right next to you but sounding so far away. Something cold pinches your arm and suddenly you’re spiraling into a warm darkness, and you welcome it with open arms.


	3. Winter Soldier 1

**_(Y/N) = Your Name_ **

**_(Y/S/C) = Your Skin Color_ **

**_(Y/H/C) = Your Hair Color_ **

**_(Y/E/C) = Your Hair Color_ **

 

**Imagine that the Winter Soldier breaks into your office to kill a few of the people you work with and steal some documents**

 

    You’d been the first one to notice something was wrong. It started as an innocent, “Hey, who opened the window?” To, “Holy shit the screen was kicked all the way over there, somebody busted in.” Your mom constantly tells you how observant you are, but you never really believed her until now. Your eyes rake over the office, taking note of papers displaced only centimeters and chairs pushed in or out too far. Two chairs and eight papers is what told you somebody had silently broken into the office and cause you to slam your hand on the ‘ **Evac** ’ button on your desk.

    “What is it?” Your boss shouts as he leaves his office, watching everyone leave the building with their documents. You see a slight shift in the shadow near the lean man, and you race towards him, grabbing his shoulder and slamming him into the wall with more force than you originally meant to. “(Y/N), what the hell do you think you’re-” He gets cut off as you shove him downwards with you. A knife lodges itself in the wall exactly where your boss’s head had been moments ago.

    “Somebody broke in.” You whisper, dragging your boss down the aisles in between the cubicles that you and your co workers sit in for too many hours a day. “And is trying to kill you.” You wince as somebody screams in pain before there’s a thud somewhere nearby, indicating a body hitting the floor. There’s pained sounds escaping the man before they cut off in a gurgle, the sound of a boot hitting something solid cutting the gurgle off. You drag your boss, Matt, into the nearest cubicle and slap a hand over his mouth as he almost lets out a string of cusses.

    Heavy boots tread past your cubicle almost silently, and you place a hand over your own mouth to stop a whimper from escaping it. You shift silently, waiting until the boots are in the isle to the right before vaulting over to the other cubicle, pulling Matt with you. The blonde man stumbles a bit, causing his foot to connect with a stapler and sending it flying across the cubicle. You quickly force the man into the cubicle to the left and then vault that one. Heavy boots rush to where the stapler fell and you force Matt and yourself under the desk.

        You shift the chair just in time for the assassin to vault into the same cubicle as you and Matt. You hold your breath, a hand already on Matt’s mouth to stop him from gasping or making any other noise. “где он?” You hear a deep voice question under a man’s breath. Your heart stops beating a few moments as the boots land near your foot, and you slowly lift your foot and move it closer to you, trying not to make any sound as you do so. Matt is trembling almost as badly as you are, and when the man walks away you grab Matt and pull him out of the cubicle, rushing down the aisle soundlessly.

        Matt, on the other hand, is extremely loud with his uneven steps and sloppy footwork. He trips and you cuss, grabbing him and pulling him with you when a man appears at the end of the aisle, completely  _loaded_  with weapons. He pulls out a gun, shooting Matt in the back of the head. You scream, letting out a string of panicked cusses before jumping into one of the cubicles and vaulting into the next one and then racing down that aisle. You fall back when the man appears there, his dark hair a bit long and his pale eyes cold and calculating as he stares at you.

        He then turns to the side, holding up his pistol and shooting somebody before turning back to you. With every step he takes, you scoot back a foot with fast, panicked motions and terrified noises. He tilts his head to the side, raising one hand to his ear. “Запрос брать заложников.” The man says. “Нет выпуск.” He stands there for a few minutes, firing another shot into another person’s head when they get too close for his liking. “Причина неизвестна .. я понимаю.” He says, then he turns back to you.

        He approaches quickly, wrapping his hand around your neck and lifting you up, pinning you against the wall and holding a cloth over your nose and mouth. “Если вы хотите , чтобы ваше дыхание , дышать в нем.” The man orders. Your eyes widen as your hands go up to his wrist. You nod desperately, and he loosens his grip a bit. You gasp in breaths, and the world goes black as a sickenly sweet smell assaults your senses.

***

 **где он?**  - Where is he?

 **Запрос брать заложников.**  - The request to take hostages.

 **Нет выпуск.** \- No release.

 **Причина неизвестна .. я понимаю.**  - The cause is unknown.. I understand.

 **Если вы хотите , чтобы ваше дыхание , дышать в нем.**  - If you want to get your breath, breathe in it.


	4. Winter Soldier 1, 2/?

**_(Y/N) = Your Name_ **

**_(Y/S/C) = Your Skin Color_ **

**_(Y/H/C) = Your Hair Color_ **

**_(Y/E/C) = Your Hair Color_ **

**Imagine that the Winter Soldier breaks into your office to kill a few of the people you work with and steal some documents**

    You’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness for a while now, sometimes greeted with silence and other times with muted Russian.You aren’t exactly sure you  _want_  to entirely wake up. The assassin in the room with you isn’t any incentive to do so anytime soon. Chloroform is definitely not the only thing involved with keeping you under, you can feel the needles in your arms when you drag yourself into short consciousness. As you float in an ongoing darkness of purple, blue, silver, and black masses that swirl around you you know that you aren’t awake. You know you’re dreaming, but even still you find yourself unable to move, to speak. To do anything. And it’s been too long for your sleeping self to not know that you’re not awake.

    When you wake up, something horrible is different. Your skin burns, there’s a large tube jammed down your throat to your lungs, and the heat around you burns like lava. When your eyes snap open you let out a scream of agony, your hands moving automatically to scratch out your eyes. Something heavy and sturdy stops you from doing so. Probably chains. You scream until you’re no longer able to, and when you try to stop breathing the tube forced down your throat pumps air into your struggling lungs. Something is jammed into your arm, and it spreads a cool numbness throughout your body. You can barely hear garbled voices screaming at each other before you pass out, the burning coldness following you into the black.

    You fade into consciousness, still burning a bit as you become aware of your breathing and the cold handcuffs binding you to your bed. You let out a sound of fear as you crack open one of your pale/dark eyes. You close it quickly and let out a shaky breath, trying to ignore the pounding in your head. You slowly open your eyes again, pushing yourself further into the bed. Everything is extremely detailed. As in you can probably read a book on the other side of the room. The door opens and your wide (Y/E/C) eyes snap to the woman who walks into the room. She heads over to your bed and uncuffs you, dropping clothes onto your aching chest.

    “You’re getting a motorcycle to run on. If you go to the police, the Avengers, or SHIELD you’ll be electrocuted before you can get a word out.” She says, shoving the cuffs into a bag before dropping it onto the floor. She sees the fearful question in your eyes and smirks dangerously. “He likes to catch them. You have twenty minutes before he’s sent after you. Better hurry on your way.” The woman leaves the room.

    You know it’s a stupid thing to do, but you really need things to help you hide. So of course you go to the mall, and the first thing you do is get your hair cut and dyed a deep purple. You then go and get the clothes you’ve always wanted to wear but you could never afford. You slip out of your loose clothes into black jeans, a maroon button up shirt, a dark tank top, and a black beanie. You roll the sleeves of your shirt up, grab more clothes, pay for them, and then you shove everything into the duffle bag you bought. You buy a pair of aviator glasses with silver rims when you pass them, ripping off the tag before putting them on. Just in time, too, because then you see the man who kidnaped you walk in through the doors opposite of the ones you need to get to. You know he’s evil and a murderer, but holy  _shit_  he’s drunk.

    The last time you saw him, his hair had been wild and all over the place. Now? Now it looks fucking  _flawless_. His pale eyes are hidden behind a pair of aviator glasses with black rims, and his pale lips are actually visible. So is his jawline.  _No_ , (Y/N), don’t think like that. The man who looks like a greek fuckin god has a companion. A little girl. She looks like she could be his daughter, which is probably what they’re going for. “Вы видите их в любом месте (Vy vidite ikh v lyubom meste)?” The little girl asks as you walk over to the food court, causing you to stiffen a bit.

    “No.” The man’s voice is gruff and deep, and you scowl at the shiver that runs down your spine. “Het (Net).” The man switches back to Russian when the little girl looks confused. You throw your wrappers away and leave, staying close to a group of men and women your age. They give you odd looks, but decide not to question you when they see the panic in your eyes.

    “Я думаю, что я вижу их (Ya dumayu, chto ya vizhu ikh).” The girl says, just quiet enough so that you can’t make out what she says.

    “где (gde)?” The man asks in the same tone, following the little girl as she follows you and the group. She points to you in particular.

    “Там. Велосипед на улице, я поп шины (Tam. Velosiped na ulitse, ya pop shiny).” The girl says, racing ahead and putting on a mask of excitement. She rushes past you, and a spike of fear rushes through you when the group takes a turn you don’t need to take. You continue on your path, but then you see the girl standing at the doors with a screwdriver and a smirk. You then break into a sprint, the man directly on your heels. You shove the little girl out of the way and race into the woods. The man’s darkly amused chuckle follows you into the woods, stopping your heart for a few moments as you tear between trees. You go top speed when you hear somebody chasing after you.

***

 **Вы видите их в любом месте**  - do you see them anywhere

 **Het**  - No

 **Я думаю, что я вижу их**  - I think I see them

 **где**  - where

****Там. Велосипед на улице, я поп шины** \- There. Bike on the street, I’ll pop the tires _  
_**


	5. Tony Stark 1

_Yo I'm gonna be co-writing things with people and if you want to be one of them hit me up either on my profile comments or at my email (zbrianna123@gmail.com)._   
  
**(Y/N) = Your Name**

**_(Y/S/C) = Your Skin Color_ **

**_(Y/H/C) = Your Hair Color_ **

**_(Y/E/C) = Your Hair Color_ **

 

**Imagine being Tony Stark’s assistant**

 

    You honestly have no idea what you’re doing here. You’re surrounded by supermodels and geniuses and people who look like they’ve been assistants their entire life. One woman looks like all three. Unlike your unruly (Y/H/C) hair, her golden locks are pinned in place perfectly. Her button up shirt is unbuttoned just enough to see the top of her lacy purple and black bra, and her pinstriped mini skirt hugs her wide hips in a way that makes even you stare. When she catches you looking she winks at you before turning back to her iPad in a formal case, tapping then scrolling. You duck your head to hide your blush.

    “Mrs.Hazel, please enter the room Mr.Greene is exiting” A man in a brown suit storms out of a room as the door slides open, face red as he breathes heavily. He slams the front door open and stalks to his expensive car, pulling away quickly with a loud rev of his car’s overly powerful engine.

    “Thank you.” The blonde says, entering the room. The door closes behind her, and you see the casual pose of Mr.Stark shift to show his interest. You sigh, dropping your head into your hands. You groan a bit before walking to the bathroom and fixing your hair. You sigh as you stare into the mirror, leaning on the counter.

    “Mr/Ms.(Your Last Name), Mr.Stark is ready for you. You’re the last application for today, so I advise you be on time.” A voice says. You swear before rushing into the main room, walking into the office just before the door closes. A man in a button up shirt that’s not even buttoned, a dirty wife beater, and dress pants glances at you. He’s got his aviator sunglasses on, his dark hair is set in the perfect position, and he looks at you with a raised brow.

    “Didn’t think you were gonna show up.” Tony Stark states, settling back into his chair. He kicks his feet up on his desk and sighs, placing his hand on his fist. “At least you don’t look like you’ll try to outsmart me or seduce me to get this job. So tell me, what makes you better than everybody else that’s entered this room?”

    “Nothing.”

    “Not a good thing to start with.” Tony says.

    “Hold up. I’m not saying I’m stupid I’m actually higher than some of the previos geniuses IQs, but obviously I’m not exactly supermodel material.” You say, motioning down at your body. Tony looks you up and down, and you freeze a bit at the attention. The man does so a few times before looking at your eyes for once.

    “Eh. Sit down, (Y/N).” Tony motions to the chair, and when you sit down it’s cold even through your jeans. “You aren’t very dressed up.” Tony states, motioning to your clothes. A button up maroon shirt, a black beanie, black jeans, and your black combat boots. You shrug, motioning to the billionaire in front of you.

    “I wasn’t actually expecting to be here for more than a few minutes.”

    “You don’t sound very sure of yourself.” Tony says, raising a brow again. You smile a bt.

    “I’m a bit of a pessimist.”

    “You don’t seem to be sharing anything important to your case.”

    “I’m not stupid, Mr.Stark. I know that you’ve already looked up my file, my facebook, and anything else having to deal with me.”

    “Don’t be cocky.”

    “It’s not in my nature.”

    “What’s your favorite band, (Y/N)?” Tony asks, causing you to pause in what you were about to say and then stare at him with a raised brow for a bit. “You heard me right.”

    “I don’t know… ACDC?” You say. To be honest, you have a lot of favorite bands. Mostly bands like ACDC and Metallica, but you also like bands like Fall Out Boy and Panic! At The Disco. Tony raises a brow again. “If you keep raising that brow it’s going to run and hide in your hair.” You state, and Tony snorts.

    “That’s the goal.”

    “Well I guess that once you’re a billionaire it won’t really matter what you look like considering you could get surgery.”

    “Eyebrow surgery?”  
    “You could always just use glue and your hair. Or maybe get one tattooed on.”

    “Then I’d have to get the other shaved and tattooed.”

    “Feel the burn. You fought aliens. I think you can handle the pain of tattooes.”

    “You know what they’re like?”

    “I’m basically covered in tattoos.”

    “That’s not good for the workplace.”

    “Who else is here who can actually judge me on my tattooes?”

    “The maids.”

    “Haven’t seen them yet.” Tony shrugs at that.

    “They don’t like people. Anyways, what tattooes have you got?” Tony asks, motioning for you to show him. You roll your eyes before taking off your collared shirt, thankful that you wore a tanktop despite the heat. You turn around to show tony the wings that cover your entire back and the back of your biceps. You then show him your sleeves and the tattoo of the matrix from transformers on your chest. You also lift your tank top and lower your jeans a bit to show him the start of the ‘bite mark’ on your hip that travels a bit down one of your thighs. Tony whistles. “Impressive.”

    “Thanks Iron Man.” You say in a deadpan voice. The man winks at you before shuffling through some papers on his desk.

    “How do you feel about parties?”

    “Depends on how many a week.”

    “Three.”

    “Would I need to clean up after them?”

    “That’s what the maids are for.”

    “Then I’m all for it.” You say, leaning back in the chair as you get comfortable. Tony smirks a bit, leaning back too.

    “You can put your feet up.” He says, and you hesitate a bit before doing so, making sure your boots are clean enough before you do so.

    “How do you feel about moving.”

    “Trying to move out of my shitty apartment at the time.” You respond, shifting a bit as you get more comfortable. The conversation eventually moves to your academic and social abilities. As the meeting wraps up, you stand up and shake Tony’s hand.

    “Anything else I should know about you?”

    “I can down five shots and then build a small sentient robot in half an hour.” You say with a small smile. Tony smirks before dismissing you, telling you he’ll call you if you’re chosen. You nod and bid him goodbye  before leaving, sitting in your crappy car for a few minutes before pulling out, driving home at high speeds as usual. This time you hit all green lights on open streets.


	6. Everybody 1, 2/?

**_(Y/N) = Your Name_ **

**_(Y/S/C) = Your Skin Color_ **

**_(Y/H/C) = Your Hair Color_ **

**_(Y/E/C) = Your Hair Color_ **

 

**Imagine helping the Avengers in their battles, but they don’t know who you are  until you get injured**

 

    When you wake up your wings still hurt like a bitch, and you find that you can’t hide them or move them back into your back. To be honest, you’re just happy to be alive. You slowly open your pale/dark eyes, wincing at the bright light that greets you. A groan forms in your chest and works its way up to your chapped lips. You grimace as the sound scratches at your throat like claws, and then you try to focus on the blurry object suddenly in front of you. You furrow your brows in confusion, but then there’s a hand on your back that’s helping you sit up. Another groan of pain leaves you as your heavily bandaged wings shift around.

    “Shh..” A man mutters soothingly, rubbing calming circles in your back.You glance up, your vision still swimming. It focuses for about four seconds, but you’re still able to see who it is. That dude who was wearing the blue suit. Fast guy. He’s new. You’re about to ask him his name, but then your throat acts up again, and you stare warily at the glass of something blue in front of you.

    “What is it?” You croak out, wincing as pain shoots through you, originating at your throat. The man sees your grimace and untrusting (Y/E/C) eyes, and his  expression softens considerably.

    “It is a pain reliever.” He says, and you furrow your brows as you stare at the cup still held in front of you. “It will also speed up your healing process so that your wings will heal quicker and you’ll be able to fly again.” A heavy accent colors the man’s voice, and you nod slowly before hesitantly reaching for the glass. You gasp in pain at the movement, recoiling immediately.

    “Ya know-” You cut yourself off with a hacking cough that makes your eyes water. “I’d hate to be a burden… But I- I don’t think I can, um, hold that.” You whisper, red slowly crawling up your neck to cover your face.

    The man smirks a bit but drops it after a while and slowly moving you so you won’t choke on the liquid when you drink it. He waits for you to open your mouth patiently, and when you do he slowly pours in the liquid. Instead of tasting like generic medicine or just something disgusting, the medicine tastes like a cinnamon roll. Your eyes widen, and you almost choke in surprise, but the man moves the glass away from your mouth quickly. He waits until you lean forwards about a millimeter before he brings the medicine back.

    “I know that it is a surprising flavor.” The man says and you look at him with an expression that radiates “No shit Sherlock”. The man snorts as he continues feeding you. When the glass is empty you have another coughing fit, and the man grimaces in sympathy as he watches you with worried eyes. He fixes your (Y/H/C) hair as it goes into your mouth, and then he smirks at you with a wink. He then sits on the chair next to your bed, kicking up his feet but not touching you with them.

    “What’s your… Your name?” You ask, struggling to speak. The man looks at you, his white locks moving even after he stops turning his head. His  pale eyes flicker over to you as he raises a brow.

    “My name is Pietro Maximoff.” He says, looking at you still. “I didn’t have the chance to thank you before. You… Passed out. I cannot properly show my amount of gratitude for you saving my life. I owe you my life.”

    “I don’t know why people say ‘I owe you my life’ like I want to take that. Like, no. I just saved that. I want you to  _keep_  it. That’s why I  _save_  people.” You say, causing Pietro to chuckle softly.

    “English is not my first language, don’t ask me why  a phrase is what it is. English phrases confuse me more than most others.” He says, and you nod.

    “Можете ли вы сказать что-то на русском языке? Это мой первый язык. ( _Can you speak Russian? It’s my first language_ )”  You ask in your native language, causing Pietro to raise a brow at you.

    “Да, я говорю по-русски. ( _Yes, I can speak Russian_ )” The man replies, causing you to smile a bit. “Наташа может, тоже. ( _Natasha can, too_ )” You nod in understanding before sighing and leaning back.

    “The medicine makes me sleepy, huh?” You ask, and Pietro nods, looking a bit guilty. You sigh again before muttering to yourself in Russian as you turn over. You close your eyes and fall asleep quickly.


	7. Everybody 1, 3/?

**_(Y/N) = Your Name_ **

**_(Y/S/C) = Your Skin Color_ **

**_(Y/H/C) = Your Hair Color_ **

**_(Y/E/C) = Your Hair Color_ **

 

**Imagine helping the Avengers in their battles, but they don’t know who you are  until you get injured**

 

    When you wake up again, your wings don’t have holes in them anymore, but you can’t hide or retract them. You groan as you roll onto your stomach, searching for whatever is making that infernal noise. Eventually, you find the alarm clock, and you hit the snooze button with almost all of your strength. You cuss when the clock actually shatters, slowly waking up to take in your surroundings. You sit up abruptly when you remember where you are. A SHIELD base. Oh gods.

    “And sleeping beauty awakens! I have to admit, that alarm clock didn’t do much to deserve that.” Is that Tony Stark? That is Tony Stark. What the hell is Tony Stark Doing in your room?

    “Learn from it.” Is your automatic response. “Let it be a reminder to all not to wake me up.” You press your face back into the pillow.

    “Notes taken. But seriously, I’d get up and into some real clothes. That paper bullshit only lasts so long and Pietro won’t hesitate to grab you and drop you in the middle of the training grounds in only a shirt.” Tony Stark says.

    “Sounds like you’re speaking from personal experience.” You mutter into your pillow, slowly rolling so you’re sitting on your bed with your feet hanging off the edge. You hear Tony laugh, and peak at him from behind the hand you put over your eyes to try to stop the pounding in your skull

    “God, you have no idea. That little shit will do basically everything to embarrass you.” Tony mutters, sounding bitter like the coffee you’re used to drinking right about now. Tony seems to somehow read your mind, because he hands you a cup from starbucks. You look at it wearily.

    “This won’t put me to sleep, will it?” You ask hesitantly. The look Tony gives you is tinged with pity.

    “Nah. You should be awake for this.” Tony says back, his noticeably softer tone almost making you scowl. It just sounds like they’ll use you as some animal. Put you to sleep when you aren’t needed and waking you up when they want you. Tony, once again, seems to read his mind, because he scowls. “I used to think that too. Trust me, I didn’t want SHIELD within fifteen miles from me on all sides. If you ignore the blatant lies they tell everybody, it’s not that bad. Sorry, I should be trying to be reassuring. Uh… Get up, you can do it! Everybody is just swell! You weren’t shot in the wings!” Tony’s tone is colored with an amount of sarcasm that you appreciate, and a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

    “Thanks, man. Really helping. Pass me the pants over there.” You mumble, tugging at the oversized tee shirt that you have on now. Tony does so quickly and even turns a bit when you pull on said bottoms. “Lead the way, Man of Iron.” You mimic Thor, and Tony smirks a bit before doing as you asked.

    “This way.” He says, strutting ahead of you. You roll your eyes, but you follow him anyways. He leads you through these long, confusing as all hell hallways. You’re almost positive that one of these halls lead to Narnia. Or there’s a closet so deep you’ll go deep enough to find Dean Winchester. You pause at the entrance of the room that Tony walks in, making a face. You shift your wings around a bit, and then you can finally walk in while ducking forwards a bit. About thirteen pairs of eyes snap to you, and you duck your head a bit. A woman that you don’t remember seeing, ever, runs to you.

    “Oof!” You try to give a normal reaction as the woman runs into you. She wraps her arms around you, and you shift a bit so you both don’t fall. “Uh..?” You look to the man whose life you saved. Then the other one. Agent Barton smiles and winks at you before returning his focus to the coffee he’s nurturing in both of his hands.

    “Thank you. Thank you so much.” The woman whispers into your chest, and you narrow your eyes before understanding.

    “You don’t need to thank me for that.” You mutter, a hand going up to rub the back of your neck automatically. Your eyes snap to Agent Romanoff when hers snap to you to follow the movement. You awkwardly hug the woman back, and when she pulls away she’s sniffling and wiping her face. Your face must be pretty shocked looking, because she laughs a little, still wiping at her red eyes. “Bet you’re happy you wore waterproof makeup.” You comment, making the woman smile a bit.

    “Alright, (Y/N). Time to talk.” A black man in a huge overcoat and an eye patch says. You straighten up, staring at Nick Fury before nodding, following him hesitantly. The fact that Pietro didn’t rush you out of there encouraged you to continue following him. The ominous click of the doors closing behind you sure didn’t help, though.


	8. Steve Rogers 1

**_(Y/N) = Your Name_ **

**_(Y/S/C) = Your Skin Color_ **

**_(Y/H/C) = Your Hair Color_ **

**_(Y/E/C) = Your Hair Color_ **

 

**Imagine Steve Rogers  asking to hide from the paparazzi in your house**

 

    The furious knocking on your door is what wakes you up. The small shouts outside your door are what get you actually out of your bed and to the front door. You pull said door open, and then stare at the physical perfection in front of you. Sandy blonde hair, gleaming blue eyes, and a muscles arm still raised as he was about to knock again when you opened the door. Sky colored eyes flicker behind the man, and you recognize him as he glares behind him like there’s somebody trying to kill him.

    “I’m so sorry to wake you, ma’am/sir, but the reporters and paparazzi are hunting me down. Can I please,  _please_  hide in your house until they leave?” Captain fucking America asks, staring at you with fearful blue eyes when you hear a camera go off somewhere nearby. You glance around before nodding.

    “Yeah, come on in. My ex probably left some of his clothes here. I’ll get you some. Go shower, because whether you’re an Avenger or not you stink like hell.” You order. Mr.Rogers looks like he’s about to cry because of how relieved he is. He grabs you and pulls you into a hug, ignoring the fact that he’s sweaty as fuck.

    “Thank you. Thank you!” He says. You grumble a ‘no problem’ as the huge man rushes upstairs. You hear the water running, and two minutes later you hear a humming from Mr.Rogers as he nearly starts singing in the shower. You laugh a bit, rummaging through the stuff that your ex left at your house when he left and didn’t come back. You knock on the door to the bathroom, and the humming stops for a few seconds and you can hear Captain America shifting around. “Come in?”

    “Do you need a towel?” You ask, laughing a bit at the large man’s tone of voice. The shower door slides open and then closes again.

    “Yeah…”

    “Alright, hold up.” You say, grabbing a towel that’s in the closet next to you. You crack the door open, and when Mr.Rogers gives you an affirmative sound you open it a bit more. “Hide the goods, the door is pretty translucent, and I don’t think you’d like me to see little America.” You joke. You hear Mr.Rogers choke a bit, before he laughs loud enough it almost echoes. You hear him almost drop one of the shampoo bottles and you laugh again at the long string of cusses that escape him.

    “Goods are hid. C’mon in.” Mr.Rogers said.

    “Can I call you something other than Captain America and Mr.Rogers? Because I don’t want people to think I’m talking about the dude from my childhood when I tell the tale of the time when you used my shower to hide from the paparazzi.” You say, smirking a bit while you put the clothes on the toilet. The man in your shower laughs again, running out of breath a few times.

    “Steve. You can call me Steve.” Steve laughs.

    “Alright, good. I’m (Y/N), by the way.” You introduce yourself. You can see Steve nod, and then you put the towel on the door handle before heading back downstairs. About half an hour later, you hear the shower turn off. You’re sitting on the couch, eating cereal when Steve comes downstairs, topless. Well, your sweatpants and crop top/no shirt isn’t any better, but Steve is in  _great_ fucking shape and you can’t help the bolt of lust that zings through you. You duck your head a bit, acting like you just suddenly found something in your cereal. “I hope you’re not expecting any four course meal.” You say.

    “Oh hell no. Toaster strudels are the shit, do you have any?” Steve asks, and you smile a bit.

    “Language. They’re in the freezer.” You say, smirking at Steve’s groan of protest at the word.

    “Did he really?”

    “Post it on every social network? Yep.”

    “God  _dammit_  Tony!” You hear him shout, and you laugh.


End file.
